


Wake Me

by illyriantremors



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Post-ACOWAR, Smut, Some Fluff, Some angst, Wing Kink, happy Azriel, happy Morrigan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/pseuds/illyriantremors
Summary: Azriel has had some time to adjust from his last mission and it's finally morning - THE morning when he wakes up and doesn't immediately feel overwhelmed by his inner demons. With Morrigan nestled safely between his arms, the pair slowly wake one another up and celebrate how good it feels to be happy and free as they explore their bodies. Smut happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Moriel Smut Week hosted by @acotarshipweek on Tumblr. Day 6 Prompt: Wing Kink
> 
> (Sorry this fic is so wordy!!)

This morning always come.

Quiet. Subtle. Soft.

It takes a few days for it to sink in, for the morning sun to stream through the windows and pull him from sleep. He will keep his eyes closed for a good while longer as the warmth washes over him and he curls his body instinctively around the treasure between his arms.

He’s not supposed to have this morning. He’s never been allowed. Even after the first morning where the world finally forgave him and granted him this gift, it took him years to understand that he’d been the one barring his own permission. Guilt was an icy knife twisting his heart into bloody splinters that made a shambles of the man he wanted to be, the man who hid the dark and never dared step out into the light where his deepest truths were exposed.

But then the morning came. And slowly... another after that. And many more again until every return was met with a string of mornings caressed by the sun, kissing his skin and soaking in down to the very fibers that stitched him together.

Azriel wonders why he should be so lucky.

Sometimes, often when he first returns from a mission, he thinks this morning will not come. The first night and subsequent day is often a storm of tangled limbs rushing everywhere, heat pulsing between them in heavy throbs that carry them through the wind and rain and into each other. It is a consummation. A first time all over again. A need to feel and reassure himself that they still exist, that he made it home and did not find his nest empty.

A torrent of emotions rain down over him those first few days as she baptizes him - his Morrigan. Her lips become an altar at which he confesses every sin, tasting her with his tongue, her hips leading his hands to where he might sacrifice his guilt. And to be inside of her? All his blackest deeds are washed away there so that he might atone and be made holy again, sanctified by her light.

It feels endless, at first, to the point that Azriel wakes up for days on end certain it was all a falsehood. The devil himself has caught him by the tongue and forced lie upon lie over Azriel’s lips until the blood is leaking from where his jagged nails have pierced the skin and the weight Azriel holds between his arms is not his Morrigan, but a promise he can never fulfill.

But always - always, always, _always_ , she wakes him, brings her light into the dark tunnels of his mind until she finds him shuddering on bended knee ready to confess, tilts up his chin to bid him look at her when he would refuse, and tells him that there is _nothing_ to confess. He is whole. He is infinite. He is _hers_.

The light is almost blinding and Azriel welcomes it, needs it if he wants to be purified. And he does - terribly so. To the point that his hollows ache with the pain of stretching himself too thin as he tries to reach it. But that is the wonderful thing about Morrigan. One moment she is absent, and the next she appears and is suddenly everywhere all at once. She does not make him reach or climb or struggle. He has done that enough all on his own. All she has to do is touch him, just once, and his body heals, his mind quiets, and his soul cries free.

And then the morning comes. _This_ morning. The one where Azriel finally wakes and does not instantly feel the demons calling to him or see the stains on his hands. For now, they are relegated to waiting and watching from the shadows of his next mission. The shadows that take him now are much lighter, cocooning him and the woman in his arms in that peaceful, perfect rest he has learned to accept beneath the shelter of his Morrigan’s heart.

His favorite part is this moment, when his skin warms just enough from the morning sun that he’s vaguely awake, but not enough to stir. Morrigan is pressed into his chest sleeping soundly. With his eyes closed, Azriel enjoys the comfort of knowing - finally understanding - how he is allowed to indulge himself as he begins to gently touch her, hesitations be damned.

It starts out small. Just a soft, gentle movement of his fingers brushing back and forth at the small of her back. She’s wearing nothing but a delicate, thin shirt that easily presses her breasts into his bare chest, and a plain set of underwear. He adores the simplicity, how easy she makes this for him in every way. Undoubtedly, she went to bed without knowing what these small decisions mean for him. Morrigan is simply effortless that way.

Her head is cradled in the crook of his arm. If Azriel leans down, he can smell her. Dragging his nose slowly through her hair so as not to wake her, he picks up on the citrus hiding between the strands inviting him in and sighs, his chest falling downward and taking hers with it as they breathe together.

For a moment, his motions on her back stop. He is content just to take her in, to hold her against him and let that scent wrap them up together.

The arm she sleeps on encompasses her fully, his hand resting on her shoulder that leads down her smooth skin to where she still clutches for him. Her grip has slackened in sleep, but it remains there resting on his chest never the less, fingers curled against him. His heart is underneath her palm beating silently away, but he feels it with each pulse. If she were to move her hand, even a fraction of an inch, it might burst out of his chest and hand him over for her to hold forever.

His fingers resume their ministrations on her back, daring to skate a little higher. It is only the tips that press along her, a finger here... a finger there... sometimes just one... sometimes two... Just light strokes subtly bringing her to the surface of consciousness. They glide up easily underneath her loose shirt that falls open naturally as if designed to give him better access to her. When he reaches the valley between her shoulder blades, after tracing each and every one of the hills along her spine until he’d flown over them all, Morrigan inhales sharply. And in the breath that is released, he hears her soft murmur and flattens his hand against her back in reassurance.

It’s such a quiet sound. Barely audible at all. But Azriel hears it and it bids him open his eyes, perhaps the only sound in the world right now that would force him out of the soothing darkness blanketing his eyes.

Morrigan’s face is smooth and even. Sunlight shades part of her, leaving her cheeks illuminated in the light while her eyes find rest in the shaded clouds above. No freckles. No scars. No wounds hide here. Just a silkiness that his lips long to worship.

He wants her to wake up. He wants her to sleep forever. He wants everything all at once if it means they stay like this forever.

Uncertain if she has fallen back asleep or not, Azriel takes that flattened hand at her back and brings it with careful sluggishness down, down, down her delicate length, enjoying the feel of her muscles beneath his touch, how she has allowed the strength she has trained up in them over centuries to soften within his arms. As the touch ripples down her skin, a tranquil _Good morning, my love_ , he returns to the base of her where he had started and waits.

And then he feels it. Feels _her_. Feels his Morrigan wake up to greet him against the rising sun.

Her foot stretches and nudges forward just enough to find one of his own. She scrapes one toe across him and it is all he needs to move his feet forward and better entwine with hers.

Her legs are smooth, save for the little nicks here and there from battles old and new. If it weren’t for how perfectly it feels to be fitted into her embrace, he would run his hands all up and down those legs, explore the infinite length of them, cover her with kisses that make her thighs clench and her toes curl.

His fingers have resumed their circles once more and Morrigan moves again. She keeps her eyes sealed shut, but Azriel is content to watch and simply feel her move while he waits for her to take her time. She is not an easy person to wake. Mornings, though they bring her renewed peace and a fresh day to conquer, are not her favorite. It did not take him the centuries he has known her to learn that she is slow to wake, preferring the solitude and comfort sleep affords to the pains of opening her eyes.

But she will still feel him. Oh how she feels him constantly when her mind first realizes there is light outside her eyes. It is difficult for her to _stop_ moving as her senses shudder and find _Azriel_ on the other end of her breaths, her touches, her body. And Azriel enjoys feeling it _all_.

Her legs shifts, her knee pressing over top of his legs and Azriel finally dips his touch lower, lingering for half a second on her hips before gliding down to the crook of that knee calling to him, and he pulls it up, up, up to wrap around his lower back. In response, that little curled fist at his chest expands until her arm is gliding forward and Azriel is suddenly enfolded in Morrigan’s embrace. Another low murmur hums in her throat admitting her contented approval.

They could lay there like that for hours, the entirety of the day if they pleased, and sometimes they very well do. Just laying there finding news ways to embrace, new patterns to trace among the scars, and new skin to consecrate beneath their fingertips. They were robbed of this time together for too long and now both of them are too eager to steal it back and savor every second less they lose one another again to some cruel twist of fate.

It is when Azriel’s hand ceases its restless pacing along that thigh twisted around him and strokes one rough, scarred finger along the hemline of her underwear that he hears Morrigan’s breath hitch.

Perhaps, it will not be solely a morning of sleep and innocent worship after all.

But it will be soft. It will beg. It will fulfill. And it will _take, take, take_ until they are both spent in a kind of ardent pleasure that reignites the soul when it is at its weakest.

Azriel trails along the hemline finding the right spot for his fingers to slip beneath. Watching her, he sees the corners of her mouth flicker briefly in amusement. He is glad her eyes are still closed, lest she see him blush for her.

His head nuzzles against her, once again scenting her and finding a slight arousal behind the citrus. But this time, he motions lower and finds Morrigan tilting her head upwards in greeting, their noses and cheeks meeting with a gentle intimate caress while Azriel slides the underwear lower. Her legs shift as he rids her of the material, casts it aside to be forgotten about, and it leaves her flat against the sheets with Azriel nestling himself at her side. 

Her hands move first, working their way up the strong arm of him that leans over her torso, squeezing and feeling every hard muscle he contains. She wears a soft smile on her lips, eyes still firmly closed, and Azriel decides he wants to see them finally open, fall into the warm brown and gold center of them until he feels the world stand still in their wake.

One finger... then two... scratching lightly through the hairs between her legs making that smile derive a faint, silent chuckle before...

Azriel touches her, his fingertips swirling lazy idle strokes over her clit that he knows are sending little pulses of pleasure out across her skin, the nerve endings kindling in the embers of that touch. It is not the frenzy that he discovered when first he came home into her arms, but rather, it is decadently luxurious, a rich intoxicating process of merging into one another one faint touch at a time.

Morrigan makes her enjoyment known to Azriel, grabbing the arm that works her so carefully with a tug. When her head falls towards him on the pillows almost reaching, Azriel gives in to her. Bringing his other arm back around her to pull her in with her back firmly tucked into his chest, Morrigan takes hold so that his other arm may more freely work its will. She lets out a heady sigh of relief when Azriel brings her into him and kisses just below her ear, filling her core with that pleasure he loves to inject her with.

He’s addicted to touching her. Even without sound or with clothes and sheets at times in the way, this is heaven, he thinks. Consuming her, pushing her towards that brink, her legs twitching the closer she gets. He can practically feel the climax rolling off of her in droves as it builds beneath his hands.

The throbbing he relieves is not the crack of vicious lightning that seeks to shock and pierce so violently in the desperate search for release. It is the overwhelming, slow oncoming of thunder instead that pools in the darkness before emerging resplendent among the skies in a canopy of shattering, dizzying tremblings that shake the soul.

Azriel takes those legs beginning to quake and threads his through them, pulling them apart to give him better access to Morrigan’s center. He is rewarded with the sight of her biting her lip and failing to hold it back, watching as it falls open and he is left with the most gorgeous pants coming out of her mouth.

His cock hardens behind her and it sends her hips pushing back onto him. Finally, they move as one. Just tender, steady movements between them as her hips move in time with his, leaning in to his strokes on her clit.

_“Perfect, Morrigan,”_ his midnight voice praises _. “Perfect.”_ The only words he will allow himself to say, whispered into her ear before he reaches down to bite gently. Her lips part again bringing that swell in her core to its height. Azriel dips into her shirt and barely grazes over the swell of her breasts as Morrigan comes for him - without sound, without thought, without a plea to help her.

He delights in her orgasm, the way she comes over him in new ways each time that never fail to surprise him. She is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. Has thought so from the moment he met her. What would he have done if she had never looked at him with that radiant smile in those camps? What precious salvation he would have missed. Azriel has needed it - _depended_ on it - ever since.

They rest together afterwards for sometime, basking in the comfort of their shared heat. His fingers remain hovering over her clit, now and then giving a twitch that makes her body shiver pleasurably. He allows himself one long stroke through her folds to divine the wetness that’s grown thick there before pulling away, and as his hand comes back up, Azriel feels the yawn overtake him.

That’s when Morrigan at long last opens her eyes. To watch as his mouth gives in to the yawn, his arm elongating up above them, but most especially, the way his wings stretch out involuntarily filing her vision to the brim.

Azriel watches as her eyes trail after those wings and delight in the red and gold hues hidden in them. He can’t help it that they stretch, that they move. His body wills it when he is tired like this. The wings take up so much space as they spread out to fan over them. When they reach their furthest point, Morrigan reaches out a lazy finger and skims it along one of the veins running through the membrane.

Now it is Azriel’s turn to murmur low in his throat. The sensation he feels at Morrigan’s touch is promising and he... finds he wants more.

Only on these mornings, the mornings the world allows him to live again with her, would he feel so willing. Only for her would he be so free.

That is the beauty of these moments. Azriel becomes unburdened even if it is so pitifully short lived in the grand scheme of things. But for now, his only mission is _her_ and what Morrigan loves more than anything else is to touch him, this he knows. If he would let her, Azriel knows Morrigan would spend every waking moment taking care of him, making love to him in all the ways of worship her body knows how as he so often does for her.

But it’s hard for him to let go. It’s hard to relinquish that control when so often it’s all that holds him together. Morrigan forces him to realize through that cunning persuasion of hers that right here, in her arms? The control isn’t necessary. The only threat she poses in his life is to save him and it’s for this reason alone that he finds the strength within him to let go now.

They trade off, Azriel nuzzling his head into Mor’s in a way that silently requests her turn back around to him, and Morrigan pushing at his chest with her head when she’s righted herself to bid him turn. His back now against her stomach, Azriel expects Morrigan to dive straight in. She’s such a vibrant ray of light in that way, always ready to blaze ahead and shine so radiantly while she chases the life ahead of her.

But Morrigan does not immediately consume his wings. It is not _that_ kind of morning. Azriel knows it. Morrigan knows it. Their hearts know it.

Which is why she first brings her arms and legs back around his body to hold him against her. He takes her hands at his chest and squeezes them between his palms before reverently kissing them. Sighing into his back in reply, Mor presses her forehead against the toned muscles between the two wings right where they connect with his body.

Even without saying it, he can hear her voice ringing inside that golden head of hers, praying to him in thanks for the morning this has been, the morning they have waited near on six hundred years for.

_Azriel... Azriel... Azriel..._

His eyes close. He could almost fall asleep again, except... for that little mouth of hers that reaches out to taste him.

She kisses him and it opens up a chasm inside of him that is yearning to be filled with all of Morrigan’s sensations. She trails the kisses closer and closer to where those wings connect, stopping just along the seams where her tongue pauses to lick one long, indulgent line...

Azriel shudders.

Morrigan breaks her hand free of him and he feels it go taut against his stomach. All at once, she gives in to him, her lips caressing the membranes of his wings that send his cock twitching. Morrigans grabs him and begins pumping for him and all at once, as suddenly as the thunder appeared for her, Azriel’s body is trembling and losing his concentrated control.

He has been a master of that self-control for centuries. Has wound it on a spool of thread so tightly that nothing could break it apart. It is what protects him, what keeps him safe on the darkest mission or in the most delicate negotiations and he clings to it like ivy along the garden walls. Without it, he would be nothing. He would fail at all he does.

Which is why it utterly astounds him how perfectly he watches all that glorious self-control fall to utter ruin at Morrigan’s touch on his wings, his cock, and yet leave him still so whole.

He should be nothing right now. The chaos erupting inside of him should have cleaved his being in two. Yet with Morrigan, he remains sane. Somehow, she always keeps him sane.

He cannot resist to help her. He wants so badly to melt right into her touches that if they could be one being, he would make it so between their souls. Morrigan’s thumb brushes the head of his cock and Azriel snaps. He places his grip over her own and together, they move on him building that fire in his core that generates the hardness beneath their palms.

As they move, Azriel squeezes not just himself but Morrigan and her beautifully delicate hand as well. What horrible things it does to him to look down and see her touching him like this, to watch her reach for him without reservation or repulsion. To see that beautiful smooth flesh of her hands joining with his gnarled and scarred ones.

She has always accepted him. Has always taken his darkness into her light and let it make a home inside her, proving that she can come out clean regardless. They both can.

Each tightening of his grasp on hers spurs Morrigan’s lips on. Sucking and licking, they tease every ounce of feeling out of him, build that fire so high inside his core that he is rattling to break free.

But her movements never grow wild, never buck into that frenzy they sometimes give each other. Like Azriel, Morrigan makes this morning work slowly, like a poison you don’t know is there until you’ve drank the glass and feel yourself splintering into a mess that clatters broken onto the floor.

Her lips go everywhere, feed upon every secret hidden pleasure she knows to find within his wings. Azriel feels her waiting for him. Waiting for that sweat to break out on his forehead, for his back to arch and his legs to quake into hers when he can stand it no longer. And when at last he finally gives her what she wants, Morrigan parts her lips and _bites_ along his wings. Not too hard, but just enough that the burden of his body is undone in waves of pleasure that shoot out along his wings and he is coming into her hand.

And Azriel feels glorious. He feels alive. Free from sin and guilt, he is complete.

They give in to their magic and allow themselves to be cleaned up from their love making before they find themselves once again and nestle back into the sheets. Sleep is already calling to Morrigan. it will take her swiftly, this Azriel knows. Soon after, he will follow. Maybe they will wake up in a short while only to dance again, to savor the slow lazy thrusts and simmering kisses in their sleep addled states that only a day like this one could bring.

Either way, Azriel will be happy.

Tucking Morrigan back into his chest where she belongs, Azriel watches the angel before him blink wearily up, smiling at him with love and the acceptance he has craved several lifetimes over. He leans lower, captures her lips in the lone kiss they’ve shared since the dreams ended and the sun called them to wake, and brushes the hair away from her face so that he might watch her properly as she falls asleep.

They hum into each other, enjoying the way they taste and feel upon their tongues. And when the kiss breaks, they don’t go far. They don’t go far _at all_. They simply rest and hold on to this morning and the many more that are sure to come.

xx


End file.
